explain to you why I have come.'

'We are acquainted; why should you not come? Besides, this is not the
first time you have honoured me with a visit.'

'I came to you as one man of honour to another,' repeated Rudin, 'and
I want now to appeal to your sense of justice.... I have complete
confidence in you.'

'What is the matter?' said Volintsev, who all this time was still
standing in his original position, staring sullenly at Rudin, and
sometimes pulling the ends of his moustache.

'If you would kindly... I came here to make an explanation, certainly,
but all the same it cannot be done off-hand.'

'Why not?'

'A third person is involved in this matter.'

'What third person?'

'Sergei Pavlitch, you understand me?'

'Dmitri Nikolaitch, I don't understand you in the least.'

'You prefer----'

'I prefer you should speak plainly!' broke in Volintsev.

He was beginning to be angry in earnest.

Rudin frowned.

'Permit... we are alone... I must tell you--though you certainly are
aware of it already (Volintsev shrugged his shoulders impatiently)--I
must tell you that I love Natalya Alexyevna, and I have the right to
believe that she loves me.'

Volintsev turned white, but made no reply. He walked to the window and
stood with his back turned.

'You understand, Sergei Pavlitch,' continued Rudin, 'that if I were not
convinced...'

'Upon my word!' interrupted Volintsev, 'I don't doubt it in the
least.... Well! so be it! Good luck to you! Only I wonder what the devil
induced you to come with this news to me.... What have I to do with it?
What is it to me whom you love, or who loves you? It simply passes my
comprehension.'

Volintsev continued to stare out of the window. His voice sounded
choked.

Rudin got up.

'I will tell you, Sergei Pavlitch, why I decided to come to you, why
I did not even think I had the right to hide from you our--our mutual
feelings. I have too profound an esteem for you--that is why I have
come; I did not want... we both did not wish to play a part before you.
Your feeling for Natalya Alexyevna was known to me.... Believe me, I
have no illusions about myself; I know how little I deserve to supplant
you in her heart, but if it was fated this should be, is it made any
better by pretence, hypocrisy, and deceit? Is it any better to expose
ourselves to misunderstandings, or even to the possibilities of such
a scene as took place yesterday at dinner? Sergei Pavlitch, tell me
yourself,